


The Measure of a Gentleman

by w0rdinista (Niamh_St_George)



Series: Elinora Cousland [4]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-18
Updated: 2010-01-18
Packaged: 2017-10-06 10:27:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niamh_St_George/pseuds/w0rdinista
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What is "the right kind of gentleman," after all?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Measure of a Gentleman

The campfire crackled comfortingly beneath a clear, starlit sky. Elinora's companions were quietly amusing themselves and she was sitting in front of the fire, cradling a plain earthenware cup in her hands. Tea was a small luxury she'd allowed herself, and the blend she'd found on a chance encounter with a trader was far better than she would have hoped to find so far from home. If she closed her eyes as she drank, she could almost picture herself in Father's study, curled before the fire. Steam laden with lemon and mint entwined caressed her face and for a brief moment, all thoughts of Darkspawn were banished from her mind.

"Wherever you are, I hope the weather's better than it is here."

The castle's study dissipated into the ether and she opened her eyes to see Alistair standing before her, looking down with an expression of fond amusement. "The weather isn't that bad," Elinora replied. "Better than it has been."

"Yes, well, the absence of freezing rain does help in that regard." He paused a moment, uncertainly. "Am I interrupting?"

"Not at all," she replied, setting her cup down and preparing to get to her feet. "Is everything all right?"

"No, don't get up. I'll sit." He lowered himself to the ground sitting, Elinora was amused to note, a modest distance away. "I... I wanted to ask you about something you said."

"Of course. What's on your mind?"

"Well..." Alistair cleared his throat, and even in the dim, flickering light, she could see him color slightly. "It's about... earlier. When you said you wanted... the 'right' kind of gentleman to court you. What... what exactly did you mean by that?" he asked hesitantly. "The 'right kind of gentleman'?"

Comprehension dawned and Elinora understood at once what had happened. The conversation had started out innocently enough, and had somehow wandered into the uncharted waters of courtship. The question had caught her entirely off balance, and so she'd said something along the lines of how only the right kind of gentleman would do. They were both speaking the King's tongue, but entirely different languages. After her reply, Alistair had seemed hurt, and barely spoke two words to her for the rest of the night._ So_ that's _why he withdrew so suddenly_. "I would have hoped it was obvious," she replied cautiously, watching him.

Alistair cleared his throat, uncomfortable. "I'm not quite sure it _is_ obvious."

Reaching out shyly, she ran her fingertips over the knuckles of his right hand. "The 'right' kind of gentleman, Alistair, is one who is kind and thoughtful and brave; amusing, but not a fool; he is loyal and forthright and good."

He let out a husky, slightly uncertain chuckle. "You do realize that you may well have just described your hound."

She picked up her cup and took a sip of tea, watching him intently over the rim of the cup. "And, of course," she continued, "he must be handsome." _Please, Maker, don't make me have to spell this out for him._

"Handsome," he echoed.

"Indeed."

"I...I think I understand," Alistair replied after a few moments. He then cleared his throat and looked away, but Elinora caught a glimpse of a pleased smile playing about his mouth.

"Good." He seemed once again at ease and Elinora let out a silent, relieved sigh. This was the Alistair she knew and lov—_knew_.

"I've another question, if I may."

"By all means." She took a sip of tea.

"Was there anyone... _before_, who filled these requirements?"

Elinora hadn't been expecting that question, and her sudden, quick inhale resulted in an unintentional attempt to aspirate hot tea. Alarmed, Alistair thudded her on the back.

"Are you all right? I didn't mean to—"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she managed, coughing. "I just wasn't expecting that."

"Should I... not have asked?"

"No, it's... it's all right. The answer isn't really a straightforward one. Yes... and no, I suppose." Alistair shot Elinora a quizzical look and she shrugged once before going on to explain. "Mother was quite interested in encouraging me to become better acquainted with the son of a dear friend of hers, Lady Landra. Dairren was..." she paused, frowning, determined not to think of Lady Landra's crumpled body on the stone floor, not to wonder what fate had befallen Dairren or Iona. "Dairren was kind, certainly, but he lacked a certain..." she struggled, searching for the right word. "I'm not sure I could have ever respected a man who I could best so easily with my sword."

Alistair nodded slowly. "So... if this Dairren was your 'no,' then who was the other? Again, I don't mean to pry." He paused. "Well, that's not entirely true. But you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

This time it was Elinora's turn to blush. "Ser Gilmore."

"Wait. The knight Duncan had meant to recruit?"

Elinora nodded. "His father had also been a knight at the castle. Ser Gilmore and I were children together." She was silent for a long time, turning her gaze to the flames. "I am not certain I had a better friend in all the castle." Elinora glanced at Alistair and could see the unspoken question poised on his face. "We were not lovers," she said, the blush hot at her cheeks. "I... ah, meant what I said about never having...licked a lamppost in winter. Or any other season, for that matter."

"It sounds as if he was very important to you."

"He was." After a moment, she laughed. "He was actually my first kiss."

Alistair scooted closer. "Oh, now we get to the juicy bits. Go on."

"Don't get too excited. I was nine."

"And already practicing your wiles. Got an early start, did you?"

She laughed, nudging him lightly with her shoulder. "Nothing so sordid. We were in the courtyard, watching some of the knights spar, and he announced to me his intent to become a knight like his father. And I said, 'You cannot become a knight! Knights do things like rescue silly damsels from towers, and then kiss them!' He looked quite horrified at the prospect, I assure you."

Alistair could barely hide his snicker. "'Silly damsels'? What storybooks were _you_ reading?"

"I fancied myself a self-rescuing damsel."

"So much is explained so fast," Alistair murmured sagely.

She went on, ignoring him. "I then suggested we attempt it first, and if it was too disgusting, then perhaps Gilmore would decide not to become a knight after all."

"And since he eventually became a knight..."

Elinora couldn't help but laugh. "Neither of us was terribly impressed by the endeavor, but Gilmore decided he could tolerate the kissing if it meant becoming a knight."

"Very practical of him." He tilted his head, regarding her in the firelight. "And what about you?"

She grinned at him, green eyes dancing. They were closer now, and her pulse had started to trip and pound its way through her veins. "I decided my time was better spent learning how best to hit things with sticks."

Alistair shifted again, even closer. "Well, you are uncommonly good at it."

Laughing, Elinora set her now-empty cup aside. "Why, thank you. At any rate, as we got older, certain things changed. We'd sometimes slip off together to spar in the fields. Nan would pack us a lunch, and we'd spend all afternoon training."

"And _was_ there any legitimate sparring going on?"

Biting her lip, Elinora looked away. "We were very evenly matched, so the sword master had us train together frequently," was her bland reply.

"I notice how deftly you managed to avoid answering my question. You were canoodling with your sparring partner!" Alistair teased.

"We most certainly were not."

"Canoodler."

"It was very innocent canoodling," Elinora eventually relented with a fond smile. After a moment, that smile faded. "He died the night Howe took the castle."

"So you could live."

"Yes."

"Well... I, for one, am thankful to him for it."

The jovial tone had fled from his voice and Elinora looked over at him, vaguely surprised at the change. "Thank you," she murmured hoarsely. Their legs were touching, she realized with a tiny jolt. Her mouth was incredibly dry, and she darted her tongue out to wet her lips. When she did, she felt Alistair start slightly. Her eyes dropped to glance at his lips, and when she raised them again, she saw that he was looking at her so intently, the rest of the camp faded away. Elinora tilted her head up slightly, close enough now to feel Alistair's warm breath caress her lips.

They did not hear the happy bark and Morrigan's angry footsteps. Something foul and soft landed hard on the ground between them. It bore a slight resemblance to something that had once been a hare.

_"Look at what your mangy hound put in my pack!"_


End file.
